she burnt brightly
by oswins
Summary: Once upon a time, Rose Weasley burnt like a supernova; she flickered and she flared and she sang and she danced. but now her supernova's completely burnt out and it's all Scorpius can to do keep her together. —Rose, Scorpius and lighting up the fire. /for Dra


**_a/n:_ **_for dra._

_thank you ella (ink-teardrops) for beta-ing. i love you forever. _

* * *

Rose Weasley is dangerous.

She burns like the bonfires your father used to build in the grounds of the manor when you were small. You would stand between your parents and the flames would dance up and up and up into the starry November sky. You always wanted to get closer – to feel the warmth against your face and see the sparks floating away – through the garden, weaving in between the trees and out into the world. You think that one day you would like to see the world – to dance atop the Eiffel Tower and spin in circles beneath a mountain – but for now, you think, you'd like to stay right where you are. You'd like to stay safe.

But that's until you meet Rose Weasley.

And with Rose, safe is never applicable.

.

Rose Weasley is trouble.

Your father tells you that as you stand at Kings Cross, staring out over the sea of families. You're trembling – a nervous first year waiting to go to Hogwarts for the first time, a castle you've heard nothing but fairytales about – stories of floating candles and moving stairs, a castle shrouded in magic.

Your mother hugs you and you can smell the whiff of whiskey on her breath. She stumbles in her high-heels and you may just be eleven but you want nothing more than to be able to hold her and stroke her hair and tell her that daddy still loves her and everything is going to be okay. You want to hug her tight, just like she did when you were little, when you watched sparks fly up into a starry sky.

But you can't because your father is behind you. He smiles through thin lips and squeezes your shoulder.

_(just a little too hard.)_

Your father proceeds to tell you about Rose Weasley; she's starting in your year, he says. She a Weasley and she's nothing but trouble.

You look at him and shrug, a long-lost image of a girl with red hair and a fiendish smile, from a reunion party from when your parents still cared enough coming into your mind.

You smile slightly and think you've had enough good for a while.

.

Rose Weasley is _giant_.

Everything about her is _big,_from her bushy red hair and hazel eyes and her stride as she marches up to the sorting hat. You watch her from your new seat at the Ravenclaw Table in fascination. There's something about her which draws your naïve, eleven-year-old self towards her. She sits on the stool and her back is as straight as a poker as the hat is placed upon her head. There's a pause and you can feel the whole hall holding their breath.

Then, there is a cry of 'RAVENCLAW!' and the breath is released in a wave of cheers and shouts. Rose sits with her cousin Lucy across the table from you. You stare at her and she looks right back. A coy smile creeps across her face and it's a smile that just can't be ignored.

So, you smile back.

.

Rose Weasley is _sad_.

You see that the first time you talk to her; it's something about the haunted look in her eyes and the way she stands on precarious toes, like a bird ready to take flight. It's something about her cocky smile, which begins to turn down whenever she's not being watched.

And it's something about her shaking shoulders and red face as you watch the tears tumble down her face. It's something about helplessness and girl who thinks she's far too broken to be fixed.

So you slide down the cracked wall and sit beside her. You don't say anything. You don't even move. In the end she turns towards you, burying her head in your shoulder. Tears burn your skin like flames but still you sit.

You're eleven – naïve and full of young hope – but you think you _might_ just be in love.

.

Rose Weasley is your friend.

You sit on the grass behind the boathouse and you watch her laugh. You watch the graceful swan of her neck as she throws her Charms book onto the grass and smiles up at you, her eyes dancing like the cobalt waters of the lake.

"I think I'm in love," she tells you.

You try to smile like you always do; Rose's infatuations never last more than a month at most and you try to humour her but this time, the smiles and the jibes and the teases don't seem to come.

_(because you've been in love with her for the last five years, perhaps?)_

"Scorpius?" she asks.

You grit your teeth and you smile despite the hurt and the longing and the loss.

"Who is it this time?" you murmur.

Rose squeals in delight.

You laugh too because this is Rose and she has enough pain of her own.

.

Rose Weasley is _beautiful._

She sways her hips in perfect rhythm to the music, her head thrown back in ecstasy. She's the life and soul of the party – the belle of the ball. This makes you laugh because you know Rose is _nothing_ like a belle.

But that doesn't mean she doesn't make your heart stop every time you see her. That doesn't stop you from wanting to run your hands down her body and hold her until the end of time.

But what does stop you is him; he's the one with his arms around her waist, whispering sweet nothings into her ear; but you know, in the eventual continuum, he'll be the one to break her heart.

.

Rose Weasley is alone.

Her face is chalky except for the rouge marks across her cheeks; her body is crumpled and tiny as she lies on the tiled floor – and her eyes – her beautiful, lively eyes are dead and cold, just like the sky on a winter's morning when you breathe out and you can see your breath form in a cloud of azure steam. Except there's nothing alive about Rose. She's just a husk.

Pale skin. Lank hair. Dead eyes.

"Oh, Rose."

Her body shakes and you can see the brown bottle in her hands. "He lied, Scorpius," she whispers. "He was with her the whole time. I loved him, Scorpius."

Every nerve in your body tells you to run – to never have anything to do with the terrified girl with the dead eyes and broken heart. But with Rose, there's never anything you can do but pick up the pieces.

.

Rose Weasley is broken.

You find her first; a crumpled pile of red hair, sharp bones and pale skin at the bottom of her block of flats. She landed face first and you're almost thankful you can't see her face because the sight of the broken girl breaks your heart in half.

Blood pools for the side of her head; vaguely, as you vomit up your lunch you think there should be more blood.

_(she fell fifteen stories, right?)_

You hold her in your arms. You don't cry. You don't even notice the blood pooling on your shirt. You just hold her because this is the last chance you'll ever get.

And that's all Rose ever wanted, wasn't it?

To be held. To be cherished. To be loved.

Then you cry.

Not because she's dead.

But because she never knew how much you loved her.

.

Rose Weasley is a memory.

Albus asks you to read the eulogy at her funeral. You agree and sit for hours by a rain streaked window, watching the world go by as tears fall onto a blank piece of parchment. You try and write the speech, you really do but there's something about moonlit trysts, desperate kisses and holding each other until the hurting stops which you can't put down onto paper.

In the end you walk up to the lectern empty handed; you stand on shaking legs and will the words to come. But they don't; instead the tears come, falling down your face in salty streams. Albus takes charge and moves you off the alter. He says a few words about how much everyone loved Rose and about what a brilliant young woman she was; about her compassion, kindness.

No one looks at you.

They just drink up Albus' words and remember Rose in lies.

.

Rose Weasley is cold.

It's the last time you see her before she's lowered to rot in the ground

You sit by her cold, open coffin and stroke her cheek.

Her face is cold.

Her supernova's truly burnt out.

You want to say goodbye but you can't find the words.

Instead you close the coffin and leave the church.

You never regret anything more.

.

Rose Weasley is nothing.

Some days, you sit by your window with the bottle which has become your only friend and you _hate_ her. You _hate_ how she left you in the cold, world, all alone. You _hate_ that she's free and that you're still anchored to a world which might as well be hell.

Sometimes you sit on the windowsill of her flat and thinking about jumping.

They say falling is just like flying.

But they have never been ones for telling the truth.

In the end you never jump. You just sit there, watching the world go by, thinking that there would be so much more to see if she was there.

.

Rose Weasley is alive.

You've moved on now – as much as you can, at any rate. You still reach for her every morning when you wake up, your hands clutching at empty space; still lay her place at dinner. You still cry sometimes when you walk into an empty flat, banging on the walls and screaming about why God left you with such an empty hole in your heart.

Sometimes you think you see her at street corners; you catch a glimpse of red hair disappearing around corners or see long, white legs leaning against street-lamps, blue eyes dancing in the electric light.

You try and remember her as best as you can – the girl who danced like there was nobody watching and loved so easily. Because, although she's dangerous and alone and cold and broken and beautiful, there was one thing she would always be;

Alive.


End file.
